We cling to traditions
And habits
and friends
And gatherings
where
No one
lately attends.
It’s hard to
let go
But how long
one pretends
Things are
just like they were –
Well, that
kind of depends.
If whatever
we cling to
In some way
extends
To those
with whom we share it,
That surely
transcends
Any reason
to lose it.
Still, time’s
flow portends
Letting go
is expected,
Since everything
ends.
A donut requires a dunk
And a stone,
sitting creekside, a plunk.
With the
first, there’s a dip
And the
second, a skip,
Both delightful
as thoughts to have thunk.
What’s left of the snow
Are some
scattershot mounds,
The piles
that from shovels
Stayed way
out of bounds.
I spotted
some toddlers,
In
bright-colored boots,
Attempting
to climb some,
With giggles
and hoots.
What’s
really a pity’s
That old
city snow,
While pristine
when falling
And perfect
to throw,
Turns black
from pollution
And leftover
piles
Elicit
annoyance
Where once
there were smiles.
The melting
has started
And, as it
gets warm,
That
blackness will vanish
And puddles
will form.
Of course,
we’ll remember,
In memory’s
sight,
The
mountains of early snow,
Magically
white.
After being cooped inside
Because of
cold or snow,
A warmer
sunny day demands
You get
outside and go!
Depending on
your lifestyle,
If you leave
to get some air,
You choose a
place to perk you up
And mosey
over there.
One friend
of mine adores the beach,
So she will
take a drive
And hit the
boardwalk for a stroll
To make her
feel alive.
Another
lives in warmer climes
But when she
needs her space,
She hits a
nature sanctuary;
That’s her
go-to place.
And as for
me, when I am drawn
Outside to
take a walk,
I’m happiest
just traipsing on
The sidewalks
of New Yawk.
